


the funny things you do (said 'I love you' with your fist)

by electriceell



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Kinda?, Past Child Abuse, Stick is a dick, mentions of abuse, nelson and murdock v. emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electriceell/pseuds/electriceell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It starts, as these things usually do, as they near the bottom of the bottle of whiskey. The three of them had all been out drinking at Josie’s until closing, at which point Karen had begged off with some bullshit excuse like “actually having work” or something, so Matt and Foggy decided to continue their little party back at Foggy’s. Things between them were finally getting back to normal; the old ribbing and terrible law puns have lost their rancid taste and are funny again. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the funny things you do (said 'I love you' with your fist)

It starts, as these things usually do, as they near the bottom of the bottle of whiskey. The three of them had all been out drinking at Josie’s until closing, at which point Karen had begged off with some bullshit excuse like “actually having work” or something, so Matt and Foggy decided to continue their little party back at Foggy’s. Things between them were finally getting back to normal; the old ribbing and terrible law puns have lost their rancid taste and are funny again. 

Foggy’s not sure why he brings it up; perhaps he’s still working through his anger at Matt, which has faded but certainly hasn’t gone away. It’s a throwaway joke; something about how if Foggy knew about Matt’s senses he would have made him pull his weight on housework back in their shitty apartment that was barely big enough to clean and Matt just sort of stops. 

And maybe it’s because they’re drunk and because some part of Foggy wants Matt to hurt for his lies, but he keeps going. Poking at Matt for not doing his share, for all the passes Foggy gave him because he thought he was blind. (“I am blind,” Matt mumbles weakly). Foggy just keeps going on and on and he must not notice that Matt isn’t laughing with him anymore. Matt hasn’t been laughing with him at all.

Matt finally cuts Foggy off. “I’m really sorry Fog… I guess I did screw you over and you deserved so much better than me. If you want to, you know, punch me or throw shit at me or something, it’d be totally fine with it. I mean, I’d let you. I deserve it.” 

And that’s when Foggy stops snickering.

“Please tell me you're joking Matt because that’s a really weird offer.” 

“Oh, um, yea,” Matt chokes out an awkward giggle, “that was definitely a joke. I get hit enough as it is, right?”

If he weren’t so drunk, Foggy would hear the edge of despair in Matt’s voice; that broken tone that was reserved for talking about Elektra, after, and not much else. Instead, he pats Matt on the back and just says, “right,” before getting glasses of water for them and tossing a blanket and pillow (with silk pillowcase, of course) on the couch for Matt.

The next morning, when Foggy wakes up he feels like something is off. His stomach is unsettled and not just from the ridiculous amount of whiskey they downed last night. Matt’s dicking around in the kitchen, making coffee and eggs Foggy guesses from the delicious scents wafting into his bedroom. 

Fuck, is all Foggy can think because he knows deep down that he needs to talk to Matt about what he said last night. He wants to be the kind of person who can just let it go, write it off as just “Matt being Matt,” but he’s not. He’s Franklin P. Nelson who has never held his tongue once in his life, for better or for worse.

Running his hand through his sleep matted hair, Foggy wanders into the kitchen where Matt is, in fact, sipping coffee while making omelets in a pair of Foggy’s sweats. His hair is sticking up in clumps at funny angles and he isn’t wearing his glasses. The scene is so peaceful that Foggy almost bites his tongue… almost. 

“Morning, bro!” Foggy tries to start off upbeat, which immediately backfires when Matt tilts his head, presumably listening in to Foggy’s steadily increasing heartbeat. 

“Dude, are you listening to my heart? Don’t do that!” Matt’s slight flinch and rising flush would have normally have gone unnoticed by Foggy, but today, right now, it’s as clear as day. “I’m not serious, Matt. I mean, I am, I’m still getting used to the idea that you can hear my heart, but I know you can’t always help it. It’s no big deal.”

Matt’s responding smile is strained, to say the least. 

“Okay, time to stop making omelets. As much as I appreciate waking up to delicious food and coffee being prepared for me I think we need to talk.” Foggy hopes Matt picks up on his awkward gesturing towards his couch. Maybe he does, but Matt remains in front of the stove, finishes the eggs, turns off the stove, and cleans the dishes before acknowledging Foggy’s comment.

“What about?” The inquiry is quiet and when Matt turns away from the sink he’s hidden himself behind his glasses. 

“Come on man, you know what about.” Foggy tries to keep an edge of exasperation out of his voice. “Would you please come sit down so we can talk?”

On his walk to the couch Matt’s head cocks slightly, as if searching for an exit route. Foggy is briefly concerned that Matt is going to Daredevil out a window or make a break for the front door, but Matt ends up settled stiffly as far from Foggy as the couch physically allows.

After waiting and, honestly, hoping (in vain) that Matt would start the conversation, Foggy dives in. “So, I just want you to know that, while I may have jokingly and not jokingly threatened you with violence, I don’t ever want to hurt you. Ever.”

“I know man,” Matt shrugs and drops his gaze to the ground, “it was just a bad joke. I was drunk.”

“Alright I wanted to think that was the case, but I kinda don’t think it is. And it’s really important to me, like super fucking important to me that you know that you never deserve to be hit. Like, that’s not a thing someone should do to you to work out anger or conflict, okay?”

“Yea, yea… I know that, dude, it’s just that… um, nothing, never mind.”

 

“Matthew Michael Murdock, I swear to God,” Matt tossing a disapproving look Foggy’s direction, “yes, I know, language, but Matthew. Seriously. I know you don’t like to talk about feelings and stuff, but I have to ask, who made you think that me hitting you would be a good way for me to deal with my lingering annoyance at you? If it was me, if my saying I would ‘kick your ass’ or saying I was going to beat you bloody have ever made you think I would actually do those things you have to tell me…” Foggy freezes for a moment, tearing up at the thought that Matt had been expected a violent outburst from Foggy, that he had understood Foggy to have a desire to physically injure him.

“No, please Foggy, it’s not you,” Matt starts because, really, nothing can break him as fast as seeing Foggy in pain. “I think, uh, I don’t think it has anything to do with you, you know? It’s my issues, so please don’t worry about it.”

“But I do worry about it Matt,” Foggy starts, voice breaking slightly. “I worry about you and what you’re willing to let other people do to you and I worry about who taught you that your pain is soothing to their anger. Please, Matt, who made you think that you’re body should be subject to their violent whims? Who made you think you deserved that?” Tears are streaming down his face by the time Foggy finishes his little speech because, fuck, Matt is a special little snowflake who makes him crazy 80% of the time, but who the fuck did this to him?

Foggy barely hears Matt when he whispers, “Stick,” and turns his head to hide the tears that have begun leaking from his eyes. After a moment, Matt takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes and squares himself with Foggy.

“Look, I don’t like talking about him, but he hit me all the time. Not just when he was teaching me to fight, just kind of whenever.” After Foggy gives him a look Matt rushes to add, “It was my fault though, if I was better he wouldn’t have been able to hit me, wouldn’t have wanted to hit me… or that’s what I thought. He called me stupid and lazy and spoiled and a brat all the time and he beat the shit out of me, but sometimes, after, you know, he got it out, then he wouldn’t be as angry and he would tell me I was making progress or some shit. I don’t know, man. It’s no big deal; it’s in the past. Forget I said anything.”

“Fuck, Matt. That’s not nothing and, yea, it is the past, and thank God for that, but you can’t just pretend the past never happened. The past informs the present, right?” Matt shrugs in response and pulls his knees up in front of him, making himself small.

“I know the past is important,” Matt mumbles into his knees, “and I know what Stick did, it wasn’t right, but it was better than nothing. I thought that it meant he cared about me. How fucked up is that, right?” Chuckling darkly, Matt lifts his head up to face Foggy. “Really, Fog, I thought that was love. I should have been grateful when he left, but I was so broken. The funny thing is, I think a part of me still misses him. It’s fucked up, I know. It was just that it felt so simple; I knew what Stick wanted from me and occasionally I lived up to it and that felt good.”

“Matty… that’s not love. Using you is not the same as loving you. You know that right? And it may have been ‘simpler,’” Foggy’s voice makes his air quotes pretty clear, “it wasn’t healthy, man. Real, healthy relationships are a two way street. Sure it’s more complicated and it’s messier, but one person taking what they want without regards to the other person isn’t love, it’s abuse.”

When Foggy says that something in Matt snaps. His body starts shaking with contained sobs and tears stream down his face. Pulling Matt in a hug, Foggy is happy to feel Matt snuggle under his chin. Foggy feels tears welling as Matt starts to let himself cry in earnest. Gently, Foggy rocks Matt as soothingly as he can, while stroking his hair. 

“I know this is hard and I want to help you talk this stuff out. Don’t be mad at me, but I really think you should see someone who, you know, actually knows what they’re doing. I’m happy to listen and be there for you, but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No, Fog,” Matt snuffles, “you’re doing great. I don’t…. I don’t know if I can talk to someone else.”

“I know Matt. Just do me a favor and think about it, okay?”

“Yea,” Matt murmurs, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to Foggy, “I’ll think about it.”

 

It takes Foggy a month to convince Matt that seeing a therapist might actually be useful because as good as Foggy is at empathizing, he doesn’t know jack shit about helping Matt repattern his behavior or thought patterns of whatnot. And as much as Foggy hates to admit it, talking to Matt is taking its own toll on him. So, like the mother hen that he is, he makes appointments for both he and Matt to see therapists in the same office. Matt hates it, not too surprisingly, but Foggy sees a marked difference in how Matt interacts with the world. Slowly but surely, Matt starts asking for things he needs, communicating his feelings, and taking nights off for himself. It’s a scary new thing for both Matt and Foggy, but it’s good. It’s so good.    


**Author's Note:**

> This didn't make it in so I thought I'd leave it here: 
> 
> "The thing is, insults taste so much like love that Matt doesn’t notice the bitter aftertaste. By comparison compliments are just too sweet, unpleasant, cloying."
> 
> I feel the need to apologize because literally everything I write is hurt/comfort or fix it....


End file.
